Chapter 11

Chapter 11 After getting through customs at Charles de Gaulle Airport, Amy felt like she'd just lost a fight with a tornado. She'd endured eight hours on the plane, wedged between Dan and Nellie, who both kept their headphone volume too loud. Dan watched movies. Nellie listened to music and flipped through French cookbooks with full-color pictures of snails and goose livers. Meanwhile, Amy tried to make herself small and read her own books. She'd picked up six new ones in Philadelphia, but she'd only managed to finish one Benjamin Franklin biography and two Paris guidebooks. For her, that was terrible. Every muscle in her body ached. Her hair was a rat's nest. Her clothes smelled like airplane lasagna, which Dan had

spilled on her mid-flight. Worst of all, she hadn't gotten any sleep, because the more she read, the more an idea had started to form in her head about Franklin and Paris — and the idea scared her. In the customs line, she was sure she was going to lose it when the official asked about her parents, but she muttered the lie Dan and she had rehearsed—that their parents were coming over on a later flight. Nellie's presence seemed to reassure the official, especially when Nellie started answering his questions in French. The official nodded, stamped their passports, and let them through. "Nellie!" Dan said. "You speak French?" "Duh. My mom taught French. She was, like, French." "I thought your family was from Mexico City." "That's my dad. I grew up trilingual." "That's amazing," Amy said. She was really jealous. She wished she knew other languages, but she was hopeless at learning them. She couldn't even remember the colors and numbers from kindergarten Spanish.

"It's no big deal," Nellie assured them. "Once you know two languages, learning three or four or five is easy." Amy wasn't sure if she was serious, but they kept going through customs. They reclaimed their bags, changed their dollars into euros at a kiosk, and straggled onto the main concourse. Amy felt completely lost with all the French signs. Morning light slanted through the windows, though it felt like midnight to her. Down the hall, a crowd was gathering. People were flashing cameras and shouting questions at somebody Amy couldn't see. "Oh, paparazzi!" Nellie said. "Maybe it's, like, Kanye West!" "Wait!" Amy said, but Nellie wasn't going to be discouraged. They pushed through the crowd with a lot of excusez-mois. As they got closer, Amy stopped in her tracks. "Jonah Wizard." He was wading through the mob, signing autographs, while his dad trailed behind like a bodyguard. Jonah wore baggy jeans, a black leather jacket over a white tank top, and his standard half ton of silver jewelry. He looked fresh

and well-rested, like his flight had been a lot better than Amy's. "Le Wizard!" The reporters peppered him with questions. To Amy's surprise, Jonah answered them in French. There were so many people Amy wanted to melt into the walls, but Jonah looked relaxed. He gave the crowd a brilliant smile and said something that made them laugh, then scanned the faces and locked eyes with Amy. "Yo!" he called. "My peeps!" Amy was mortified. Jonah started pushing his way toward them and the whole crowd turned to figure out who he was talking to. "Oh, no way," Nellie said. "You know Jonah Wizard?" "We're related to him," Dan grumbled. "Distantly." Nellie looked like she was going to faint. Suddenly, Jonah was right in front of them, shaking Amy's hand and patting Dan on the back and signing Nellie's T-shirt, and the cameras started taking pictures of them. Don't look at me! Amy wanted to scream. I'm

covered with lasagna! Her voice didn't work. She tried to back away but her legs were frozen. "Jonah!" his father said. "We should get going." "Yeah, sure." Jonah winked at Amy. "Come with, cuz. We got stuff to talk about." Jonah's dad started to protest, but Jonah put his arm around Amy and steered her through the terminal, with Dan and Nellie and a mob of frantic paparazzi behind them, flashing pictures. Amy was sure she would die from embarrassment any second, but somehow they made it outside. The day was warm and overcast. Storm clouds were gathering on the horizon. A black limousine waited at the curb. "We — we shouldn't," Amy started to protest. She remembered Mr. McIntyre's warning: Trust no one. "Are you kidding?" Nellie said. "A limo ride with Jonah Wizard? Come on!" She practically dove into the limo. A few minutes later, they were gliding down l'autoroute de l'est toward the heart of Paris. "Man, I love this town," Jonah said.

His limo had facing backseats. Jonah and his dad sat on one side. Amy, Dan, and Nellie sat on the other. Jonah's dad typed notes on his BlackBerry, every once in a while looking up and scowling at Amy, like he couldn't believe she was still there. Outside, rows of gold stone buildings glided by, their windows overflowing with flower boxes. The cafés were crowded with people, all the chairs facing the street like they were waiting for a parade. The air smelled like coffee and baked bread. The cloudy skies gave everything a weird light—as if the city weren't quite real. "You know my TV ratings here are even better than in the States?" Jonah said. "Eighteen points higher," his dad piped in. "And my new album, Gangsta Life, is number three on the French charts." "Number two," his dad said. "And climbing." "Oh, wow, I love your album!" Nellie said. "Thanks," Jonah said. "Now shut up." Nellie looked like she'd been slapped. "Hey!" Dan cried. "That's not cool!" "What?" Jonah said. "She's not a Cahill. I'm